


Refrigerator-Shaped Sexy Frankenstein

by RobinTrigue



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Arson, Awkward Flirting, Gen, M/M, discussion of loss, low-magic setting, morgue au, posthumous sperm retrieval, some corpses and embalming so heads up if you're squeamish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22545961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinTrigue/pseuds/RobinTrigue
Summary: Tired of how embarrassingly uncool he is, Rhyno’s family decide to have him killed and harvest his DNA to produce a more worthwhile heir to the fortune. However, they didn’t count on the local necromancer becoming absolutely besotted with Rhyno’s charming, rectangular features. A classic love story.
Relationships: Rhino | Rhyno/Heath Slater
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Refrigerator-Shaped Sexy Frankenstein

**Author's Note:**

> All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

Rhyno’s first thought as he shot up with a gasp of terror was not the cold, nor the brightness, nor the smooth metal beneath him, but that he was naked.

“Sorry!” he said as loudly as would be polite, shooting an arm in each direction to cover his nipples and his genitals. It was only with a dull wince that he realised there was now a large scar cutting him from shoulders to navel.

The sound of his voice seemed to alert the only other person in the room.

“Oh! It worked!”

Squinting, Rhyno made out the shape of a man, a very young, redheaded man with a nice smile, making his way towards the metal gurney. He tried fruitlessly to hide his shame more effectively, but fingers could only do so much.

“Nothing I ain’t seen before,” said the redhead with a wink, and held out his hand for Rhyno to shake. “Name’s Heath.”

“Rhyno,” Rhyno said, shaking Heath’s hand and then instantly blushing. Heath laughed.

“Richards, right? No, don’t move too much,” he warned, gently placing his warm palm on Rhyno’s bare shoulder, which only made Rhyno’s blood pump harder. “Lie back down. A resurrection takes a lot out of you, your body’s still getting used to being itself again.”

“Umm,” Rhyno said, painfully aware of every weird lump and bulge of his meaty body as the man in the lab coat looked him over. “What… happened?”

“There was an accident,” Heath replied. Thankfully, he had finally turned around to pinch out some incense, allowing Rhyno an opportunity to wrap himself with the scratchy blanket that was folded at his feet. “I left the report upstairs, but guessing by how banged up you are, some kind of car crash. But your parents had you sent here for the autopsy! I guess they knew my mentor, Mr Flair?”

“Oh.” There was a lot of information coming at Rhyno that was making him feel a little sick, but the mention of Ric Flair didn’t help. Ric Flair had delighted in showing up to every garden party and holiday dinner his family had ever had, and sharing embarrassing personal details in a very loud voice which made Rhyno feel both muculent and substandard.

Heath accepted Rhyno’s vague noise as confirmation and carried on. “Well, Mr Flair taught me the whole business, see, and when I saw the EMTs didn’t try CPR on you, I was so happy – ’cos most folks are harder to bring back if someone’s already tried to bring ‘em back, y’know? Your parents only wanted a sample, but seeing you, I thought -”

At this point, Heath turned around, and Rhyno wasn’t prepared for the fullness of his smile. It was like looking at Rhyno reminded him of something happy.

“Well, I just thought I oughtta try, y’know!”

Rhyno stared blankly as he took that in. The staples in his chest tugged as he breathed, and he could feel something crusty drying on his forehead. Heath frowned in concern, and picked up a small flashlight.

“How’s the tinnitus? Are you adjusting?”

“Fine. It’s, uh, I don’t mind it.” Rhyno swallowed. “You, uh. Sample?”

The mortician flashed the light back and forth across Rhyno’s pupils. “A semen sample! Some wealthy families will use a surrogate if the heir unexpectedly -”

“No, I uh. I know. I meant, uh.” He cleared his throat, trying to avoid eye contact with the redhead, whose hand was resting on Rhyno’s knee. “Uh, I meant, have you done it yet?”

Heath picked up a long syringe from a nearby tray.

“Nope. But I could.”

“No, no that’s -”

Heath laughed. “I’m joking! I’m joking. There’s no need to draw a sample, since your family has you back. Relax!” He cuffed Rhyno lightly on the shoulder, which Rhyno noticed was bright pink and pockmarked as his skin rapidly knitted itself together.

“Besides,” Heath added with a wink, “now you’re awake, we could have a lot more fun extracting that semen.”

The arm Rhyno was propping himself up on suddenly slipped and he fell backwards with a racket.

It took two days before Rhyno was well enough to stand. Without any sunlight down here, he could only tell from the analogue wall clock, and from Heath’s word-a-day calendar passing from “lacklustre” to “fecund.” No part of his body hurt, not even the twisting, stapled chest cavity – which Heath explained it was important Rhyno not pick at, because the necromantic pouch of essential oils he had placed there was still being absorbed into his system. Despite the lack of pain, Rhyno could tell, with discomfort, that the bones of his left leg were thin and somewhat rubbery, just like his shoulder. He didn’t dare walk until the calendar reached “cosmeticized,” and the fuchsia swelling which wrapped around his torso like a snake had faded to pale rose.

Heath came to visit him several times a day, bringing Rhyno something called Cup Noodle and some very small clothes. The sweatpants clung to Rhyno’s rump so tightly they rendered the drawstring redundant, and the t-shirt, which he was unable to tug lower than his ribcage, would more accurately be described as a second skin. Heath had stared at him for a long time before suggesting that, to promote healthy healing, Rhyno would perhaps do better to go shirtless for a time.

So Rhyno limped through the lower floor of the morgue, trying to cover as much of his torso with the blanket as possible, for modesty’s sake. That was when he met Kane.

“Slater!” the man roared. He was a foot and a half taller than Rhyno at least, and it took his eyes a moment to find him after spinning around. “Oh. You’re not Slater.”

“Umm, no. I’m Rhyno?”

The tall man took a few dozen seconds to look over Rhyno, and his blanket, and his face, and his hair, before turning back to the spreadsheets covering the desk with a huff. “Well, next time Slater’s around, let him know I’m willing to help out with the books, but I need a complete expenses list, not just the items he _thinks_ are relevant.”

“Oh. Is Mr Slater the uh, the young, Heath?” Rhyno stammered, trying and failing to lean casually on the arm of a swivel chair. He heard a snort as he collected himself.

“Yeah, that’s Heath. Are you the new recruit?”

“I, uh – ”

“The one he saved. I can smell it on you. You look the part, anyway.” Rhyno was so caught up worrying in what those things could possibly mean, brow wrinkled in confusion, that he nearly missed the hand which was held out for him to shake. “I’m Kane. I’m only here helping out around the office, it’s not a demonic pact or anything.”

“Oh. Uh. I’m just…” Blood rushed to Rhyno’s face as he recalled the only thing Heath had suggested Rhyno help out with had been – well, an act of a sexual nature. However, Kane seemed to hardly notice his bumbling.

“My soul was summoned back to the mortal plane many years since by the elder, though it may be mortal no longer; not since my foul brother attempted to burn me alive, roasting me down to cinders since he already feared my young powers would be greater than his. Many years I waited down here, in the dark, among the silent and the dead. And still I wait, biding my time until the moment is ripe for me to strike and finally claim vengeance for that fateful night. Vengeance which shall be mine, or I will die trying and let the grave claim me as once it tried to those many years ago.” He set his briefcase on the table and snapped it open. Rhyno wasn’t quite sure what face he should be making. “Anyway,” Kane continued, “That’s more or less it. Then Heath took over the business fully about three years back. He’s a good kid, but hedge magic doesn’t pay well and Ric never did explain the numbers side of funerary care to him. Not that Ric’s record-keeping was much good anyway. I imagine your story is mostly the same?”

Rhyno cleared his throat. “No, uh, I’ve always liked keeping records. And mathematics.”

Kane didn’t attempt to hide the fact he was rolling his eyes.

“I mean you. Vengeance. Rage. Since you were murdered.”

“I what?” His eyes boggled.

“Yeah. Your police report was upstairs, I read it for fun.” Kane thumbed through his letter organiser and tossed a manila folder in Rhyno’s direction. He caught it, mostly using his elbows. “I guess you don’t remember the ‘accident’?”

“No,” said Rhyno.

“There, see?” Kane towered over Rhyno, not even having to bend his arm to point over the shorter man’s shoulder. The smell of lapsang souchong wafted off his body. “Car accident, no witnesses. Driven off the road on a sunny day in Massachusetts? All that damage, to a 2012 Volvo S40, especially considering the Swedish built-in anti-rollover protections? Haven’t you ever watched CSI?”

“No,” said Rhyno again, feeling inadequate.

“Well. Believe what you want, but _I_ think you’ve been murdered. About to come into your magical inheritance, were you? Get initiated into the family secret?”

“Uh. No. Or, uh, if there is a secret I don’t think they would uh. Tell me.”

Kane frowned, lowering his reading glasses. “Found a strange amulet in the woods? Heard the cry of a mysterious bird? Saw strange lights as a child?”

“No, sorry.”

“No mysterious implants? No hidden talents?”

“No, I uh, don’t have any talents.”

Kane seemed frustrated. “Had an affair with an emperor? Sibling recently start a cult to influence the presidential elections?”

“No, I’m an only child.”

“Aha!” He snapped his fingers. “Only child! You were about to inherit the family fortune!”

“No, I uh.” Rhyno shifted his weight from one leg to the other, deeply regretting having come in here. “I uh, wouldn’t inherit unless I made a uh, suitable match, and I uh. Dating is…”

Kane made a noise like a bridge collapsing. “But there _is_ a family fortune?” he asked.

“My family owns the historic water rights to Lake Erie.”

“Okay,” Kane said.

“Well. The Michigan jurisdiction of Lake Erie. And a portion of the New York shoreline, as result of a bet in 1892.”

“Okay,” Kane said.

“It has the shortest average water residence time of the five great lakes. But it is considered the walleye capital of the world, and has several distinctive lighthouses.”

“Anyway,” Kane said, “your family has money.”

“We don’t like to talk about money,” Rhyno said.

“Right. Sure. Well, you ought to contact your surviving relatives and let them know someone is after the family fortune.”

“Um. I don’t think they’ll like hearing from me,” Rhyno apologised. “I’m not very… cool.”

“You don’t say,” Kane muttered.

“I’ll let Heath know to uh, let them know from you?”

Kane shrugged, snapping his briefcase shut and tossing his suit jacket over one arm. “Hey, do whatever you want. It’s your funeral! I’m going home.”

With that, Kane moved his free hand in a semicircle, causing a glowing red portal to appear out of thin air. The edges of the rift spat bright sparks throughout the room, spiralling plumes of smoke which stung at Rhyno’s eyes. The whole thing seemed to pulsate a sort of warmth which remained in selective pockets rather than diffusing through the cold room. With a nod, Kane strode through the portal. It closed behind him with a _zip,_ leaving only a thimbleful of ashes on the linoleum.

After a moment, Rhyno reached out a hand from under his protective layer of blanket poncho and wrote _MURDER?_ on a post-it note he found on Kane’s desk. Then he carefully stuck the post-it onto his accident report.

Along with lack of pain, Rhyno’s resurrection seemed to give him a lack of discomfort – at least, a lack of discomfort related to death. He was only vaguely aware that he might once have found it gross or terrifying to be in the same room as Heath while he was embalming. As it was, he found the shine of the surgical lighthead on the various instruments and bottles rather soothing.

“Does, um,” he said.

“Yeah?” Heath looked up with a smile on his face, even though Rhyno interrupted him while he was working. Heath had tracked down some clothes which actually fit him now, though Rhyno had never heard of a Kwik Lube before, nor worn a hoodie.

“Now that I’m, um, resurrected, do I um. Have powers?” He felt foolish asking it, more foolish still when Heath’s smile grew wider.

“Nah! I thought it’d be rude to give you powers without askin’! Besides, folks don’t last as long once you’ve swapped something out for strength or speed or whatever.” It was amazing that Heath could talk while he worked, Rhyno thought, especially when his voice sounded so nice. “Why? D’you want powers?”

“No, I, I just – ”

“’Cos you’ve already got the power of charm on your side,” Heath interrupted with a wink. Rhyno stopped dead in his tracks. Perhaps if he held his breath and didn’t move, Heath wouldn’t be able to see him anymore. “I knew – well, I didn’t _know,_ but I _guessed_ you’d be nice, since you had such a nice face!” Heath beamed. “And look at you! I was right; you’re sweet as apple pie.”

“Oh. I… Thank you very much. You are also very kind.”

Heath laughed, which echoed through the cold room, bouncing off the metal and cement so it sounded like there were a dozen people laughing. That, Rhyno was a little more used to.

“Well now! Do your parents know they raised such a polite young man?” Heath teased. It did not make Rhyno less uncomfortable.

“Umm. My grandparents.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. My, uh. My father died before I was born.”

Heath’s face fell, and Rhyno realised with a panic that he wanted to do anything to prevent it falling further.

“No – it’s alright! I don’t remember him anyway!” Despite his best efforts, Heath’s lip bad begun wobbling and he had put his bone saw down to dedicate Rhyno his full attention.

“What happened?”

“He uh…” Rhyno swallowed. He knew the story by rote of course, he could hear it exactly in his mind like a gramophone record. There were so many photos of his father in the manor that he was the first thing young Rhyno had crudely doodled with his pastels. But it was hard to explain without his grandparents’ tone of voice to carry the meaning. “He was - nice. Tall. Funny. He always, you know, mountain climbing and water skis and all that. Motorcycles – that was how he died, on his motorcycle. Everyone liked him a lot.”

“How awful for your mother,” Heath whispered, a hand over his heart.

“Oh, don’t worry!” Rhyno explained. “I don’t have a mother! My father’s girlfriend was unsuitable, so the family lawyers selected a surrogate after his passing.” Heath looked confused. “Um, through Mr Flair.”

“Oh!” Heath said. “ _That’s_ how your family knows Ric?”

“Yes.”

Heath’s surprise passed quickly, lips wobbling once more as he removed his elbow-length rubber gloves to better wring his hands. “But that’s so _sad_ – oh Rhyno, I’m sorry!”

“My father would have been a good man, yes.”

“But he would have been so proud of you – to watch you grow up like this, playing ball, smiling – if I wasn’t able to see my brothers every day, I’d –”

“Umm, it’s okay?” Rhyno offered. “I’m not very good at football, or the other things; it’s good that he doesn’t have to know about it?”

Next thing Rhyno knew, Heath was standing with his arms around him. Rhyno’s face was pressed into Heath’s chest. Heath’s body felt warm, but not as warm, Rhyno knew, as it would have had Rhyno been wearing fewer layers. Or if Heath hadn’t been wearing his slick lab coat. Or if they both – nevermind. Rhyno reached his short, stubby arms around Heath’s back, patting him a few times as Heath sobbed above him.

It was a strange moment, having Heath’s head resting upon Rhyno’s, his thin body rocking in Rhyno’s arms while he held him tight. This story had been told before so many times, so often that by now Rhyno felt protected – as if by a wall of glass – from the how fondness always gave way to disappointment. But now, in parallel to his walled-off heart, there was a growing warmth.

The staples of Rhyno’s chest scar tugged slightly on the soft lining of his hoodie.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled into Heath’s chest. “There, there. You uh… You should be happy? Thanks to you I can uh, do things? I don’t know what, but I can… wear clothes, and sort recycling, and walk along the marina…”

“Yeah,” Heath sniffled. “I’m sorry, it must seem so silly, someone like me getting worked up over death – ”

“I don’t think you’re silly,” Rhyno said quietly. Heath’s eyes darted towards his for just a moment while he blew his nose.

“You’ve just had to deal with so _much,_ ” Heath insisted, crumpling the tissue and tossing it into the viscera bin. He rubbed his forearm across the corner of each eye, before turning back to the corpse at hand. “Growing up without _parents,_ and trying so hard – when my dad left it was tough, but we could all band together. And you, all alone, it must have…”

The entire train of thought was mystifying to Rhyno; he did his best to nod every so often, only absorbing what Heath was saying about his own family. He tried to ignore the pounding in his chest as he watched Heath work. Listened to Heath say he wished he could have spent more time experimenting with magic, but he’d needed to learn a trade real quick and… The gentle rise and fall of his speech was almost musical, and despite his best efforts – despite his worries about tomorrow – Rhyno fell asleep in his chair.

The soles of Rhyno’s slippers were illuminated by the thin vein of light that shone through the crack under the door as he hovered there, debating whether to press his ear against the door. If he did, the door might move. Heath had said Rhyno was invited to be on the other side of it, but Rhyno didn’t want to make anyone angry.

Heath’s voice was muffled, but still audible.

“Mr and Mrs Richards! You must be Rhyno’s pa- grandparents!”

“Tommy,” his grandfather grunted.

“Is the sample ready?” asked his grandmother.

“Well, I actually have a bit of a surprise for you there – ”

“Hurry up, the car’s running.”

Heath’s stutter was audible. “I – okay. Rhyno? You wanna come out here?”

The door handle was cool and firm under his hands. The floor seemed to press up against his feet with unusual resistance. The light outside, the first daylight he had seen since his previous life, was too bright to perceive; it made Rhyno blink and wince. But he could clearly see his two grandparents standing before him in the reception room of the Flair Funeral Home.

“Hello, sir,” he mumbled.

Neither of them looked shocked, or even confused. Rhyno’s grandmother, all five foot four of her, stood firm with her fists clenched and her lips pursed.

Tommy rounded on Heath with a scowl. “You _said_ you would take care of this,” he shouted. “You _said_ you would be discreet. You said you would get us the samples we asked for.”

“Hello, Grandma,” Rhyno added in a whisper.

“Mr Richards, I’m not sure you understand,” Heath started, holding out both hands placatingly.

“No, I’m not sure _you_ understand, kiddo.” Though Heath was actually tall enough to meet Tommy’s eyes, he was far less broad and had to take a step back as he approached. “When I tell someone to get something done, I expect it to be done.”

“Our arrangement was for total discretion,” Grandma added. “This establishment has always had an understanding that our business is to be kept off the books.”

“Sorry,” Rhyno mumbled, but no one was paying attention to him.

“Mr Richards, your grandkid's alive! He’s right there, everything is okay now!” Heath insisted.

“Want something done right, you have to do it yourself,” Tommy muttered, tucking his cane under one arm. With one hand, he deftly unscrewed the grip, and with the other he drew from his pocket a silver cigarette case; from within that, a small metal dart.

“Hold still,” he said.

Rhyno’s body moved before his brain could hesitate or feel fear. He jumped, throwing himself at Heath; they both tumbled to the ground, landing heavily on the grey carpet with Rhyno on top. Their limbs had tangled together. Heath looked up at Rhyno, blinking his long eyelashes.

“What…?” he breathed. Then they both looked up at the shuddering of the poison-tipped dart that had embedded itself an inch deep into the wall above their heads.

“Trust you to ruin everything!” Grandma tutted. With a stomp of her chunky heel, she kicked over the buffet table. Carrot sticks and cold ham thudded against Rhyno’s back; he cried out in pain as the edge of the wood clipped his elbow, knocking something out of joint. He stumbled in his attempt to stand as the tablecloth tangled itself around his legs and arms, trapping him and Heath together.

With a sound like a raindrop on an umbrella, a second dart shot through the tablecloth. Rhyno eyed the steel tip a hand’s width from his skull. The panic was starting to set in now.

“Did I get him, Veruca?”

Underneath him, Heath wriggled until he could get a hand free; then a blast of air shot forth from his palm, sending the tablecloth flying into the air like a ghost. Rising to his knees, a glow began between his fingertips, rapidly turning into a fiery blaze. Heath hurled the fireball overhand, landing it just short of Tommy’s feet where it crackled and popped.

“What the heck is _wrong_ with you people?” Heath yelled, already preparing another fireball.

Tommy rushed forwards to engage Heath at close range, brandishing the weaponised cane like a shillelagh. Heath grabbed it just in time, flames spitting from his fingers and running their way up the wood.

Rhyno tried to crawl away, using the table for cover, but his grandmother spotted him.

“Oh no, you’re not getting away again!” she cried, grabbing the lid off the casket on display and swinging it in his direction. It caught Rhyno squarely on the face and he staggered back, momentarily stunned. He grabbed a fire extinguisher with his bad arm, but his throw missed wildly and shattered the front window with a crash. Grandma set up for another broad swing but Rhyno had gathered himself enough to dodge this one, pressing himself against the box of the casket as he sidestepped the attack. Rhyno’s eyes found a large ceremonial wreath. He had to step away from the security of having a wall at his back, but his fingers closed around the green and white wreath before Grandma could make another attack. She only had time to raise her finger in a _don’t you dare_ gesture before he swung the wreath down over her head. The stems of ferns and chrysanthemums snapped as she teetered precariously.

“Don’t touch Heath!” Rhyno said, louder than was polite. His grandfather was on the floor now, had somehow got Heath pinned and was pressing the burning cane against the mortician’s windpipe. Heath’s eyes were wide with terror.

Rhyno shoved his grandfather to one side, rolling him off Heath who dragged himself backwards, gasping and rubbing at his blistering neck. In his surprise, Tommy let go of the hollow cane. It sailed through the air, landing among the thick, velvet curtains by the front window.

“I should have known you would ruin everything,” Tommy snarled. “You can’t ever know what’s good for you, can you? Can’t ever listen to your elders and betters?” Hands now empty, he clawed at Rhyno’s face. Rhyno startled, but couldn’t get out of range without slipping on spilled ranch dressing and broken glass. One finger raked over Rhyno’s eyelid, making him cry out in pain, but the worse damage came when the other hand skidded down his chest, accidentally catching one of the staples holding his ribcage in place. Blood pooled in the centre of the Kwik Lube hoodie, and Tommy smiled like a shark. “If you and your little boyfriend had just let us get on with our plans, all of this wouldn’t have to be so damn _difficult!_ ”

“Rhyno, get outta here!” Heath yelled hoarsely.

Screwing his eyes shut, Rhyno pushed his grandfather backwards, and climbed through the shattered window.

“Sorry!” he said as he made his escape.

Behind him, Heath kicked out the support on one end of the casket display table. The legs crumpled instantly, sliding the casket off and immobilising the struggling murderers under its weight. Heath leapt through the window as well, just as flames began licking up the curtain.

Rhyno ran, Rhyno was running, out into the sunlight streets. Soon he felt the warm, strong fingers of Heath’s hand wrapping around his own. Heath smiled at him and despite everything, Rhyno smiled back. He did not turn to look when they heard the sound of the explosion behind them. He simply kept moving forward.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey gang. 2020 this is the year we finish our WIPs. Love you. Apologies to Garrison, ND, the other walleye capital of the world.


End file.
